Look Into My Eyes
by galio
Summary: An invisible killer stalks the halls of the Hogwarts Circle of Magi. Tom Riddle, a spirit medium, uses the killings as a distraction as he studies the most forbidden of magics. When Rhys discovers Cole, is he too late to set the lost boy on the right path? ASUNDER HP
1. Prologue- Mercy

**What do you need to know about this fic? It's a Harry Potter (Marauder's Era) crossover with Dragon Age (Asunder, mostly.) It's experimental for the most part, as I was curious how the Harry Potter universe would fare if it followed the lore of Dragon Age. Gotta love Harry Potter, but I think Dragon Age has the "magical beings" part figured out a little better. Enjoy.**

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><p>He felt despair, hopelessness. Fear, some desperation. Uncertainty. He had to be close.<p>

Of course, the feelings were not his own. Cole didn't know why, but he was drawn to the emotions of others. He couldn't ignore it if he tried- despair was contagious, and it radiated from people in a sickening melody which gnawed at his conscious until it might drive him mad.

He came upon the source, a crumpled ball of robes, resting rigidly against the cobbled stone wall in the dungeons. It was a girl, a small, dark-haired girl curled so tightly she appeared even tinier than he thought possible. She was sobbing, evident in the soft quivering of her body. He approached her, slowly at first. She wouldn't see him, of course, not unless he wanted her to. Cole was invisible. Only the people he truly wanted to see him would see him, but even if they did, they would soon forget the encounter. It was his curse.

He seated himself next to her, feeling a little clumsy. He didn't know what was wrong, why this girl was crying, and he didn't know what he was to do about it. He pulled his legs close to his chest, sitting in an almost identical way, and then reached out and put a hand gently on her back. That got her attention. The girl bolted up with a startled gasp, turning to look at him, her eyes red, puffy, and glistening. She wasn't frightened enough to flee; in fact, once she understood that Cole's sentiment was harmless, she resumed her sobbing, this time almost leaning into him until he was forced to embrace her.

"M-my Harrowing is tom-mmorrow," she managed to say, in-between her now uncontrollable sobs. Cole knew what that was. Initiates of the Circle must all pass a test in order to become a full mage. He didn't know what the test involved, but he knew that those who failed it were faced with a choice: the Rite, or death.

"I-I should have ssst-udied more," she continued, her tears now soaking through Cole's sleeve. He didn't mind. He wasn't exactly the 'cleanest' as it was. He'd been wearing some old rags, some leathers for boots, worn and torn in the sleeves and shoulders. Even his hair, which may have once been a fluffy blonde, was matted down upon his head, falling over his ocean-blue eyes like horse straw.

"What is your name?" he asked her, trying to take her mind off of the matter. It didn't help.

"Myrtle! They call me **moaning **Myrtle, because all I know how to do is _moan and cry_," her sobs were replaced almost fully with spite. Cole wasn't certain if it was the right thing to ask, but it was too late. "A-and you are...? You know, I've never ss-seen you around before," she sniffed.

_Of course not._

"I'm Cole," said he, but he knew she would forget about him soon anyway.

"You must be new here, you don't even have your robes, do you?" she continued, seemingly drawn from her fears. He could feel her calming, which calmed him, but he could still feel her despair. This wasn't her first time sobbing in a lone corridor, he could tell. He remained silent, however, because he wasn't certain how long, exactly, he _had _been here. Years? Decades? He'd not put much thought into it before.

"You'll be okay," he offered lamely. Her lip quivered, but the tears stopped flowing. In fact, he could feel her emotions ebbing away, and for a moment Cole feared he too might disappear. But it was not so. She relaxed, wiping her eyes with one of her sleeves. She then searched the floor for something, but grew irritated when she couldn't find it.

"Oh, bollocks, she took my glasses," she moaned, burying her face into her hands again, "This is just a disaster."

"Who took them?"

"Olive Hornby!" she said with certainty, "After she was finished telling me a demon would make me cry, and turn me into a sulking abomination!" She seemed close to tears, and so Cole braced himself for another round.

"That is truly awful," he said. She smiled weakly at him.

"You're too kind, Cole. How did you find me all the way down-?"

"Apprentice! It's past curfew, what are you doing outside of your quarters?" The templar, Argus Filch, didn't see Cole. In an instant, it seemed even Myrtle had forgotten him entirely, as she answered: "I-I don't know, ser."

And just like that, Cole was invisible again. The templar took her by the arm and guided her back to the apprentice's quarters. He hoped that she wouldn't be punished. The templar's cat, Mrs. Norris, stalked in his wake, stopping just before where Cole stood and sniffing the air. The cat's lamplight eyes paused on him a moment before she let out a shrill meow and trotted after her caretaker. If animals couldn't normally see him, Mrs. Norris was something special.

His job, however, was not yet concluded.

He had to find this Olive Hornby, and return Myrtle's glasses. Finding her, of course, would prove simple enough. Each apprentice was sorted into different dormitories, based on their family names. Olive would be in the eighth section. Furthermore, they each had their own cots, with one footlocker at the end to hold their belongings (assuming they had any.) Whether or not they used it, the footlocker doubled as a sorting system- their names were each emblazoned onto the top of them, making the occupant of the space fully identifiable by the templars or enchanters- and Cole.

The Hornby footlocker was, however, quite bare, it seemed, save for a couple of textbooks on spirits and the Fade. Cole thumbed at the spine of one of the books. He often wondered what he was. It was clear he was not like any occupant of the Hogwarts Circle of Magi, nor anybody outside of it, for that matter. He could walk into two people, and they would simply walk around him, none the wiser that they even did. He was utterly invisible, utterly unexplainable. He may even have once been a mage here. Was he dead? He might as well have been.

Cole leafed through the pages, finding nothing helpful. He couldn't read very well, truthfully. He'd spent time in the library attempting to read over the mages' shoulders, to no avail. Many of the books were old, the language unfamiliar, or far too advanced for him to even comprehend. It was frustrating. He wished there was someone who could teach him to read, or help him learn something useful to get him out of his situation, but all in all it was a hopeless cycle. He dropped the book into the trunk, and it landed with a shrill 'crack!'

That wasn't how it should have sounded. He lifted the book again, peering inside the container. Sure enough, a pair of wire frames and broken glass littered the bottom. He hoped the glasses didn't shatter because of him. He was sure that Olive had already destroyed them. Scowling, he reached inside, ignoring the cuts in his hands as he collected the broken pieces. Luckily, mages had a spell which could fix them. At least, he thought so, else Myrtle probably wouldn't be seeing very much anytime soon.

Nonetheless, he was pleased by his minor success, and with his arms full of glass, he sought out Mrytle's dorm. It wasn't until he actually went to look that he realised the problem he faced- she never did tell him her full name. There would be a lot of dormitories to search before he found her. He was joined by a pair of templars making their rounds.

"I dunno mate, I feel a little bad for the girl," one said as they passed.

"The girl? I would feel sorry for First Enchanter Armando. This is the second time he's been summoned post-midnight for an emergency ritual."

Cole felt cold as they passed. The girl? Not Myrtle?

"I know what Argus said, but the girl's Harrowing was scheduled for tomorrow. It wouldn't hurt to wait a little and give her a chance, would it?"

"It's a chance we shouldn't take. You know what happens when the mages consort with demons."

"I know, but not all-"

"Any mage. Did your training teach you nothing? Even the most experienced of mages can fall prey to demons. She'll be safer after the Rite. Just forget about it. Let's get this over with and get back to sleep."

The chill creeping down his spine sent violent shudders down his entire body. They were going to make her Tranquil. Cole sunk to the floor, the glass dropping around him. He curled into a ball, much like the way Myrtle was hiding in the corridor. He'd failed her. He shouldn't have left her side, when she needed him the most. Was it too late? His heart started, knowing suddenly that he was wasting time. He could save her. The Rite wouldn't be invoked without the First Enchanter present. He still had time.

He raced past the templars. He knew the chamber was located on one of the topmost floors of the tower. He'd seen the Rite performed, once, out of mere curiosity. It was a horrible thing to witness. The mage was begging for a second chance. The templars ignored him as a Chantry sister recited a prayer for the mage, a failed attempt of calming him. Then, the Knight-Commander raised his hand, his entire palm engulfing the mage's face. There was a scream, a blinding light, and suddenly- silence.

He wouldn't wish such a fate on anyone. The Rite of Tranquility was a last resort defence against mages believed unable to resist a demon. It stripped them completely of their connection to the Fade, which effectively amputates them of their powers. Doing so came at a great cost to the mage. A mage made Tranquil was unable to feel emotions such as fear and desire. They couldn't even dream as they slept. They simply existed as husks of their former selves, and were known by Templars as being overly obedient. The sad truth was that a Tranquil was obedient simply because they had no cause not to be. A Tranquil had no goals, no desires, and no passions. They were merely content to be.

Myrtle's screams drew him from his thoughts. He was close now, and he could almost taste her fear. It was bitter. It made his tongue dry and his throat sore. He could hear the Chantry sister reciting her prayers for her. Like before, it did nothing to sway her pleading. When he opened the door to the chamber, Myrtle was bound in place, arms spread and unable to move as the Knight-Commander circled her.

"Please, please," she sobbed, "I wasn't talking to demons. You've got to believe me…"

Argus Filch stood aside, his cat purring contentedly in his arms. Cole could feel the anger swelling in his chest just seeing the man. There was no doubt in his mind that Argus had told the Knight-Commander she was summoning a demon. More than likely, he thought that she was talking to herself, when she was really speaking to him. There were mixed emotions, almost more than he could handle. As much as he wanted to think Argus was to blame, he knew it was partly his fault. Myrtle was caught speaking to him, and since Argus couldn't see Cole, she must have been conversing with demons. Her run-in with Olive Hornby did nothing to help the issue. Cole really was at a loss as the disturbing thought entered his mind.

_Am I a demon?_

"Give me another chance, please!" she wailed, bringing Cole back to the present. First Enchanter Armando Dippet entered at that moment, and Myrtle began begging him to change the templars' minds. "Don't do this to me! Won't you let me have my Harrowing?! Give me a chance! I'll prove to you that I'm not maleficar!"

The First Enchanter, however, paid her no mind. He instead stood somewhere to the Knight-Commander's left, and folded his hands together in sad vigil. Realising that he would not be taking her side, Myrtle let out a pitiful weep.

"Please… don't let them do this to me… I would rather die…"

Cole appeared in front of her, and her beautiful chocolate eyes lifted in faint recognition. He knew she wouldn't remember him, but right now it didn't matter. He would offer her mercy where nobody here would. He put a thumb and index finger under her chin, lifting her head just enough to meet him.

"I want you to look into my eyes," he whispered. She did so, and he watched the life drain from them as his dagger entered her heart.

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><p><strong>May or may not continue. This has my interest firmly for the moment, so don't lose hope if you wish for more.<br>No, Cole will not be "paired" with anyone. Obvious reasons. No, I don't plan to write every chapter from his point of view. Yes, if I continue, this fic will follow Tom Riddle as well as the Marauders, and possibly spill a little bit into Harry's time, but it is all yet to be seen. Please leave a review if you enjoyed it (or not.) Thanks!**


	2. Disturbing the Peace

Tom desperately needed a break from this mage's seemingly endless stream of annoying consciousness. The blonde guy belonged to the Slytherin fraternity, unfortunately, and he'd been unable to pry himself away from him long enough to even use the privy ever since he passed his Harrowing. How Anders was even allowed to remain a mage within the Circle was the most confounding thought Tom had ever faced; the mage in question had already managed to _escape _the Tower four times, and there was no doubt it wouldn't be his last. Least of all, Anders would likely never shut up about it.

"... I almost made it to Val Royeaux this time," he reminded Tom, in-between mouthfuls of his breakfast. The Circle offered little more than biscuits and gravy in the mornings. Supper was always roast duck, and it tasted foul. Tom wondered if Anders even had the ability to taste anything as he inhaled his meal. "There were templars camped outside the gates. I tried avoiding the road to get around them, but you wouldn't believe- ran into one in the woods taking a du-!"

"It won't do you any good running to capital cities, imbecile," Tom interrupted him coldly. Anders didn't seem at all offended by his words. He looked thoughtfully down at his gruel.

"That's true, isn't it? Do you think I could make it to Tevinter? I should try that next time." Tom inwardly rolled his eyes. Adding any more fuel to his stupidity would only give in to bigger headaches, and so Tom decided to allow the matter to stay on the other end of the table. He returned to his book.

There was a chapter he'd been particularly interested in of late. He'd mastered summoning minor spirits from the Fade- they were small, harmless, and hardly had a will of their own. They were useful, especially if he meant to distract the daft templars. They were good at casting shadows and making noises- simple, yet effective. The theory he was researching involved a little more ritual, but it drew power from those same spirits and channeled it into a resource.

A disgusted noise interrupted his focus. Again.

A small, red-headed girl seated herself next to Anders. If Anders was loud and stupid and gave him a headache, Adrian gave him fully manifested migraines. She was barely of age and all she managed to talk about was whose robes she wanted to get into next. She was also incredibly feisty, and if anyone could piss off the templars on a regular basis, it was her. This common ground, of course, made her and Anders the best of friends.

"Did you hear what happened last night?!" she hissed. If her words were intended to be a whisper, they weren't overly quiet. Tom felt eyes turning toward their table. Adrian either didn't notice, or intended to draw the attention. When neither of them responded, she pressed on. "They took that sobbing mage- whatsername- Myrtle? Doesn't matter. They took her last night to the Harrowing chamber. She didn't come back out."

"She didn't pass?" Anders guessed with a shrug. Adrian glared at him.

"They would have made her Tranquil," she said. That earned a particularly disgruntled sound from her companion. Anders was fairly sensitive when it came to that topic- both of these two were. Tom, on the other hand, didn't care about the Tranquil. Mages who were too weak to control even themselves when faced with a demon aren't worth the title of a mage. They were gifted, yes, but not all are deserving of that gift. Tom was convinced that any mage worth his stones ought to not only be able to resist a demon, but dominate it completely. Enslaving a spirit was one thing- but enslaving a demon? That took power.

All in all, Tom couldn't imagine why Adrian was making such a fuss over it in the first place. Initiates such as the girl in question went missing all the time. It was perfectly normal. Initiates are taken to their Harrowing, they fail, and the next day you find them sorting books in the library or sweeping rat droppings off the store room floor. They were simply forgotten about. The rest of the Circle moved on.

"This is the fourth killing this month. Something isn't right. I want to know what happened to her," Adrian grunted, her fist bumping the table enough to completely draw attention. Tom watched some heads turn at another table. He recognised two boys from the Gryffindor fraternity, Rubeus and Jowan, looking their way. Rubeus was a very tall, imposing giant. He stood several heads taller than the others, and Tom suspected he might be half related to a Qunari. Despite his imposing size, however, Tom thought he was incompetent as a mage, and would probably be made Tranquil very soon. He'd witnessed some of his training with the Enchanters, and the boy could barely maintain a barrier- one of the simplest of spells. He seemed little more useful with primal magics, but it was not so easy to practice such spells in an environment easily burned down.

Jowan was different. Tom saw something in the quiet lad that reminded him of himself. He would always pretend to follow the rules around the templars, but Tom noticed how much time he spent studying alone, and wondered what a Gryffindor- a fraternity known for being stout loyalists to the Circle- was doing acting in secret. He kept an eye on that one frequently.

"I think the Templars are responsible," Adrian accused, louder this time. Tom was certain she was about to make a scene, and suddenly felt the urge to leave. He inserted his bookmark and shut his tome, collecting it under his arm and rising from the bench. Adrian narrowed her eyes at him in what could only be accusation. "And where are you going, huh? You're just gonna ignore this like the rest of them?"

"Adrian…" Anders warned her, unsuccessfully. Adrian rose from her seat.

"You're just going to let the templars off the rest of us in the night while you sit quietly and read your damn book? Don't you care at all?"

"No, I don't," Tom answered her coldly. It was the truth, and all it took were those three simple words to send Adrian over the edge.

"You disgust me," she growled, and Anders grabbed her arm as she made to move closer to Tom. The two shared a look, and before another word could be exchanged, Adrian found herself flat on the floor as two templars intervened.

"**Get- **_**off- **_**you- bloody-!**" Adrian struggled.

"What's going on here?" Senior Enchanter Wynne appeared from amidst the forming crowd. Her hard eyes took in the scene, and when she saw Adrian, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Wynne was Tom's mentor, and she thought rather highly of him. A spirit medium was a fairly rare type of mage. Any mage could summon a spirit, but not all could communicate and feel their presence as a spirit medium could. It was a talent Wynne had detected in Tom early on, and for as long as he could remember, she'd been very protective of him.

"Cullen, let me handle this. You may return to your post," she said. The templar recruit seemed hesitant, but obeyed. He released Adrian, whom looked like she might transform into a rage demon at any moment, and backed away. Tom noticed the Knight-Captain enter the dining hall.

"What happened to Myrtle and the others was a tragedy," Wynne said. Her tone was gentle, but if Tom knew anything about his mentor, she was anything but. The old woman was in charge, and she knew it. She would always have the last word. "But it's _not _a reason to start causing a riot. Maker, the last thing we need now is…" Wynne didn't finish the thought, but Tom knew she was about to say something that would set her off again. She was smart not to. Adrian was breathing hard, glaring daggers at Tom, but said nothing, which was surprising. "You should return to your quarters," Wynne suggested.

"All of you should." The Knight-Captain's voice rang out in the dining hall. He stood under the four tapestries depicting the fraternities at the opposite end, flanked by two junior templars. All eyes turned to him. When nobody moved, he barked a harsh, "_Now!_"

Whispers filled the hall as dozens of robes filed out. Wynne nodded to Tom, her way of telling him she intended to have a word with him later.

He turned to leave, but was stopped by the Knight-Captain, who put a gauntleted hand firmly on his shoulder to guide him away. If there was any one templar in this Circle hated even more than Ser Filch, it was Knight-Captain Fenris. The man seemed to genuinely dislike mages, and had no qualms about treating them like garbage in front of their peers. Years as a Tevinter slave convinced him that each and every mage should be locked in a cage and kept there for good. Tom thought he might have had a more satisfying life with the Qun, but he kept that thought to himself as they approached the two templars waiting by the door, along with Rubeus and Jowan.

"What's this about?" Jowan squawked, his voice trembling. A shove from the templar behind him effectively silenced him as they were lead out of the dining hall. Tom wondered if this had anything to do with the Ravenclaw girl. It didn't seem like she made it out alive, whatever the outcome. Nonetheless, it surprised him that the Knight-Captain would even care about that. They ascended the tower until they reached the top floor, where the Knight-Commander's office was located. The narrow stairway opened up into a comfortable sort of 'lobby', with two benches located on each side, and the door into the office at the end.

"You will wait here," Fenris said, no trace of negotiation in his tone. Rubeus was the first to sit. The bench quite nearly collapsed under him, so Jowan decided it would be best to use the opposite one. Tom remained standing. Ser Fenris eyed them all in turn, and left the two templars on either side of the door before entering the office. Moments later, the door opened, and Rhys emerged. He instantly locked eyes with Tom. The two mages had much in common, and yet they were both on the worst of terms. Rhys was as devout a spirit medium as Tom, and he would even admit that perhaps Rhys knew a little more than him on the subject than he let on. The boy passed his Harrowing recently, and from what he heard whispered among the templars, it didn't take him long to do it, either. He knew exactly why Rhys didn't like him; Rhys was Wynne's son. The way Wynne favoured Tom put Rhys in an awkward position, one that turned him competitive and drove him to avoid his mother as well as her favoured pupil. Tom was alright with this.

"Jowan," Ser Fenris called from inside. The mousy mage trembled, but slowly stood and entered the office. The door shut behind him, and they were all left in silence as Rhys made his exit. Rubeus seemed nervous as he played with some string that had come unraveled from the sleeve of his massive robes. He watched the boy fidgeting uncomfortably. After several more minutes, Jowan reappeared, looking disturbed, but quiet. He was escorted out by the other templar, and Rubeus was next. Finally, it was Tom's turn to enter.

Light filtered in from the one window overlooking Hogsmeade. It was odd to see any light at all. Tom recalled the few visits they were allowed to the village. He'd never seen anything but excessive cloud-cover and unkindly wind. The people of Hogsmeade were no different. They always looked to mages with distaste and fear. They were jealous. Unworthy. It ought to have been the other way around. Mages should be revered and respected. Feared, even.

"Sit."

The order came from the man sitting behind the Knight-Commander's desk, but it was not Ser Bartemius Sr. as Tom expected. This man was significantly older. His hard eyes rested on Tom, and the mage was no fool in doubting that his every move was currently under careful scrutiny. The man's wispy facial hair was a blonde that appeared to have been left out in the sun for far too long, caught among a tangle of white hairs that had twisted into his beard with age. His nose seemed to emerge like a fleshy polygon formed out of the man's hardened face. A permanent scowl seemed to have been formed from the hard lines from his brows all the way to his jowls.

Tom reluctantly seated himself before him, albeit never taking his own eyes off of the stranger.

"Where is Ser Bartemius?" Tom quizzed him carefully. Ser Fenris seemed to be shifting uncomfortably near the door, but Tom managed to keep his attention on the man behind the desk.

"Your Knight-Commander is, for the time being, excused from duty as I attend matters here at the Circle," he responded, "I am Lord Seeker Lambert."

"Seeker? As in the Seekers of Truth?" Tom speculated. Lambert's lip twitched upward into what might pass for a smile.

"You've done your research, have you? Then it won't come as a surprise to you why I am here, and why you are there?" He indicated the chair Tom was seated in. Tom could feel his stomach turning inside out, thinking of every in and out of this situation. He knew what they did to mages who even seemed suspicious. They were thrown into the dungeons, Maker knows for how long. Perhaps they never saw another soul again. He knew two of the recent killings took place down there alone. Something clicked in his head. _No… it wasn't. Couldn't have been… _Tom swallowed, keeping his tone calm and collected. Innocent.

"I'm afraid I don't, Ser," he lied. For a moment it seemed as if Lambert was searching him for such a lie, but if he found anything, he gave no indication of it.

"I'm sure you've heard of the recent murders within the Circle?" Lambert questioned. Tom nodded.

"I know two took place in the dungeons. After that, another was killed in his own bed," he said. He deliberately left out last night's incident, because as far as he knew, that had all been speculation. He didn't want to say too much. The more he spoke, the more suspicious it seemed.

"Right," Lambert grunted, "There were two more last night."

Two? Tom hadn't expected that. He knew one was most likely the Ravenclaw girl. But the other? He hadn't heard of them.

"Am I a suspect?" Tom asked. Lambert closed his jaw tight a moment.

"No." He felt a slight relief, but he didn't rule out that perhaps Lambert was lying to him about that. "We have a prime suspect."

"Then why am I here?"

Lambert released an old sigh. He sounded tired, as if this investigation had been years in the works.

"It is not so simple. Three of the victims were killed with a dagger. One was poisoned. None of them were connected in any way other than the method used to kill, and even that was inconsistent," Lambert explained. "Only one murder seemed to make sense, while the rest seem entirely unconnected."

"I still don't understand, Ser, what this has to do with me."

"We need assistance in this investigation. From a spirit medium, specifically."

"Was Rhys insufficient?" Tom asked, and he couldn't help the irritation lacing his tone. Lambert caught it easily.

"Rhys is… our prime suspect."

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><p><strong>Sorry for the wait. I've been recently diagnosed with clinical depression, which explains my difficulty staying focused and motivated. I really am trying. I'll work on the next chapter as soon as I can. I am sincerely glad there is some interest in this story otherwise I may not have continued. Thank you for the support and happy holidays.<br>**


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